Raptors and Shoelaces
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: Breaking a shoelace is bad luck. Really. It is.


"Alright, Connor, where's the anomaly?"

Stephen gritted his teeth as Cutter made another hairpin turn around the corner, gripping the door handle tight enough it creaked protest under his grip. God, the Scotsman drove like a madman on most days, but on an anomaly shout, he abruptly decided that he was a racecar driver.

In the backseat, Connor looked faintly green, keeping one hand around the portable detector, the other pressed against the side of the truck. "It's, erm, it should be right up here. Address is a bakery shop, but don't trust me. I broke a shoelace this morning," he added.

Both Stephen and Cutter exchanged a glance, looking into the backseat at the younger man.

"It's bad luck," Connor protested; sitting beside him, Abby rolled her eyes. "It is!"

They pulled in front of the bakery shop and went bounding out. It was closed – thank God for Sunday – but that wasn't any issue. Connor pulled out what looked like a small mobile and held it against the door for several seconds until it beeped, then whipped out his lockpick set with all the speed of a magician performing a trick, and opened the door for them. "Disabled the security alarm," he explained at Cutter's impressed look, waving the small device. "Been working on it for situations like this."

"Good one," Stephen said quietly as they walked into the shop. It was closed, but it still smelt of fresh bread and pastries, and suddenly, he was reminded that he had skipped breakfast this morning and it was almost lunch. Ignoring his griping stomach, he switched the safety off his rifle, keeping it pointed safely towards the floor.

"Oi, back here," said Connor, pointing into the kitchens. There was the anomaly, glittering serenely in the far corner of the kitchen, casting fractured bits of light on the stainless steel surfaces. "Think anything's come out?"

"If it has, won't be hard to find. Not a big shop," Cutter replied.

Stephen began moving around the kitchen, looking for any sign of disturbance that might signal a creature's presence. Everything in the shop they'd seen so far, kitchens included, was neat and orderly, all in its proper places, so anything out of place would be easy to spot. Cutter was standing near the anomaly, inspecting the readings off Connor's handheld. "Says it's at least 220 million years ago. Triassic, then," the Scotsman decided. "Good. There's nothing obscenely huge and toothy from there."

"No, we just have small and toothy now," Abby muttered from where she stood guard by the door. Or at least, she said she was standing guard. But when she thought nobody was looking, she was sneaking bites from a strawberry éclair. When Stephen raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. "I'll leave a fiver on the counter."

He shook his head in exasperation. There was a sudden, earsplitting crash from another room, followed by a familiar voice crying out, and Stephen realised that Connor was nowhere to be seen. Oh, God.

* * *

Whilst everyone else stood about the anomaly, Connor noticed that the door to the cellar, tucked in the back corner of the kitchen, was slightly ajar. Taking the mini-torch from his pocket, he pushed the door open and stepped down the stairs, using the bright beam to guide his way down to the light switch on the wall. There were boxes and crates stacked up along the walls, all of it neat and orderly. No creatures.

As he turned back towards the stairs, a quiet rustling noise made him turn back just before something leapt at him. Connor let out a surprised shout, staggering backwards and tripping on his own feet. The dark shape overshot, not expecting its prey to move so quickly, and skidded across the smooth concrete floor. It was a raptor, about waist-high and perhaps three metres long, with bright white stripes banding its near-black legs and tail. _Coelophysis_ , he thought not a second before it came at him again. Connor couldn't get up fast enough, and instead grabbed at one of the wheeled metal carts used for shifting heavy boxes and whipped it about between him and the Coelophysis.

The small-scale raptor crashed into the metal and shrieked in frustration, claws flashing through the steel wires at him. Connor cried out in abrupt pain as the Coelophysis snaked its head through the wires and clamped jaws down on his leg, twisting its head back and forth to worry at the flesh like a dog with a bone. He lifted his other leg and kicked it hard as he could, hitting it square in the jaw. It recoiled with a hiss, his blood flecking its snout, but before it could come at him, a gunshot ran out from the direction of the stairs. The raptor slumped down limp to the floor, the bright yellow tuft of a tranquiliser dark stuck in its hide.

"Connor!" Stephen said worriedly as he hurried around to kneel beside him.

"Told you breaking a shoelace was bad luck," Connor moaned.

* * *

Stephen kept one arm around Connor's waist on the walk up, letting the geek lean up against his side and supporting most of his weight, which wasn't much. Ditzy had pulled four broken raptor teeth out of his leg, and even though the bites were fairly shallow, they were still enough to warrant bandages and a few stitches. He'd be on crutches for a few days, and he wouldn't be out in the field for at least a week and a half. "Now, you'd better take your antibiotics, Temple. Don't think I'm above sitting on you until you do," he threatened teasingly.

He'd meant to get a laugh out of the geek, make Connor protest such 'neglectful' treatment. Connor only sniffled a little and snuggled his head against Stephen's shoulder. He definitely didn't feel good, then. The pain had to be severe for it to dampen Connor's humour. He'd definitely need one of those painkillers once they got in. Fishing the keys out and unlocking the door one-handed, he guided Connor inside and let him down gently on the sofa. "Here. Take this," Stephen said, shaking out a painkiller and handing it to Connor. The geek dry-swallowed the pill without protest, huddling down in the sofa and looking positively miserable.

Nobody could pull off kicked-puppy better than Connor Temple.

Gently brushing a stray curl of overlong black hair out of his face, Stephen went about making his boyfriend comfortable, carefully propping his injured leg up on the cushions and coaxing him into eating so he could take his antibiotics. "You want to watch a film?" Stephen asked quietly, crouching on his heels beside the sofa as Connor took his medicine obediently.

"Yeah," came the mumbled reply. The painkillers were making him drowsy already.

"Which one?"

" _Star Trek._ The original one, too, not the new one. Chris Pine is a ponce," Connor said, making a face.

Stephen had heard that particular spiel before, and he pressed a soft kiss on the younger man's forehead. "I remember. You talked about it for three days." After putting on the DVD, he carefully lifted Connor up and sat down on the sofa, letting the geek recline back against him, head and shoulders in Stephen's lap. The tracker idly carded his fingers back through shaggy black hair as the familiar opening score started, the other hand clasped tightly with Connor's, resting on the younger man's chest.

They were halfway through the film when Connor murmured in a sleepy voice, "Stephen?"

"Yes, love?"

"I hate raptors."

"I do, too, Conn. I do, too."


End file.
